


I Don't Wanna Know

by marquis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Liam isn't really Liam, he's a robot, and no one's supposed to know. (Louis finds out, anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Wanna Know

There’s something going into his neck, twisting and tightening. It fits perfectly well, and his circuits jump to life when he’s straightened up steadily. He blinks once before his eyes kick in, too. There’s a woman standing before him in strange, torn clothes covered in oil and stains. He opens and shuts his mouth to get used to the feeling of his jaw, teeth clacking together in a marvelous cacophony of life.

“Well good morning, Liam!” the woman says, teeth oddly silent. Liam stops clacking and listens intently to the sound of her heartbeat, of life pumping through her veins and arteries. He lets the name roll around in his head, _Liam_ , before deciding that he likes the sound. “I’m Mrs. Payne, and I’m going to be taking care of you.”

She speaks oddly, a lot less formal than what Liam’s used to. When he was around before, women like this wore long, thick skirts and corsets. They spoke only when spoken to, and were quiet even then. He remembers thinking that was odd, remembers trying to imitate the behavior before his father had told him he was to be more assertive.

His tongue feels nimble in his mouth, but he doesn’t know how to use it yet. He raises a hand and presses two fingers to her mouth, analyzing what he can through the strengths and weaknesses in their muscles. It’s still not enough to really know how to speak, but he’s not about to learn entirely. That would be impolite. Liam has only known her for a few seconds, at best.

“Hello, Missus Payne,” he replies. It sounds awkward even to him, and her smile gets smaller. (That doesn’t describe it correctly. Her smile seems just as happy, just as large, but it takes up a different space. What’s the word for that? Softer? He thinks that’s the only way to describe it, and the train of thought terminates.)

Her eyes are scanning a little white piece of paper now, but she’s giving Liam little reassuring glances every now and then. It’s his manual, he concludes, and she’s trying to find out how she might get him to adapt her form of speech more accurately. After a minute, she leans forward and presses her lips to his mouth, quick and in a way that Liam might describe as _motherly_.

His circuits rearrange, reorganize the information, and transmit it directly to the hard drive of his brain. “Hullo, Mum!” he says, delighted in the familiarity of the dialect and pronunciation. It feels gentle and light on his lips.

“There’s a love.” She nods, ruffling his hair. “Come on, let’s get you some tea.”

Liam stands and it gives his joints the extra push that they need. The wires inch out and connect with each other, stretching and pulling and learning. He has on the same clothes that she has, it seems, but they’re not torn or worn out. They’re new, and the stiff fabric stretches against his skin when he moves, but it’s not as bad as what he had before. It’s much more comfortable, and Liam thinks that he will be, too.

\--

School comes easily to Liam. He doesn’t have to work hard to understand any of the problems that his teachers present to him, so enrolling him into a school isn’t a problem. If anyone has any questions as to where he came from, they don’t ask. His mum says it’s because he looks like anyone. It’s because he blends in, and so long as he keeps quiet and tries not to do too much, it will all stay that way. No one will poke fun at him for being a little bit odd.

He finds that he loves to run. He’s one of the fastest on the team, and they say that he might be on the list for Olympic athletes in a few years. It’s not something that he remembers from before, but he never really did pay attention to what went on outside of his home.

Liam’s sisters come home from University one day to find him sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and reading a book, and they burst into tears. Liam doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t even really get time to ask, because his mum is ushering him upstairs before he can ask any questions. She tucks him into bed and kisses him on the forehead. His skin warms at the touch and picks up on the fact that she’s trying to comfort him. She’s trying to keep him from getting upset.

From the looks of it, though, she’s far more likely to break down than Liam ever has been, whether she plugs into the outlets when she sleeps or not. He says so, and she nods.

“It’s – I’ll tell you one day, Liam, and you’ll understand.” She runs a hand through his hair and he feels the way that it shakes against each individual strand. “Go to sleep, okay? I’ll come back for you when they’ve calmed down.”

He shuts his eyes and holds his breath. His lungs are used to shutting down, and he feels that they want to, but he doesn’t let them. He doesn’t let his brain fall into sleep mode even as his mother presses another kiss to his forehead and leaves the room. In his time here, he’s never known for there to be any secrets. She knows that he hates that, hates not being able to know what’s going on. It’s hard enough for him to figure out how to use a telephone; he doesn’t need anything else to worry about.

So he slips out from under the duvet and makes his way out into the hall, feet quiet on the soft carpet. Liam makes his way to the top of the stairs and sits down, listening to the conversation that he knows must be about him.

“…you could just _replace_ him, like he was never even here!” one voice yells, shrill and harsh. There are sobs in the background.

“I didn’t replace him!” his mum replies, sharp and biting. “I missed him just as much as either of you, if not more. You don’t understand how lonely it is around here.”

It gets a little bit quieter after that, and Liam’s ears are at full power now, trying to pick up on whatever it is that’s happening below him. They’re either hugging or ignoring each other; Liam doesn’t know his sisters well enough to be able to figure it out.

“Whatever that _thing_ is,” a third voice says, “it’s not my baby brother.”

\--

When his mother finds him, her eyes are red and she looks tired. Liam’s sitting up in the attic, plugged into the wall and looking through a photo album that she’s never shown him. When the light turns on it’s like an explosion going off, white flashing into his eyes and making him jump. Liam blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust before turning the page and looking at the next photographs, of a boy who looks just like him standing with two boys that he’s never even seen before.

“Oh, Liam,” she sighs, walking over and sitting beside him. “I thought I told you to go to sleep, sweetheart.”

Liam shrugs. “I didn’t want to be confused.” He doesn’t move his head, but his eyes flicker over to look at her and take in her appearance, worn-out and exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he says, but for the first time, the words sound mechanical and unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Don’t be; it’s not your fault.”

Liam looks up entirely now, meeting her searching gaze with his own. “I meant for causing the fight,” he informs her, “although I’m sorry for that, as well. I assume you’re going to have to shut me off now, aren’t you?” He tilts his head back, allowing her easier access to the little button that could turn him off completely. She would only have to take him apart and send him back, and he’d be out of her life forever. No more fighting over it.

She places a hand on his head and tilts it back down so that they might look each other in the eye. “Of course not,” she tells him, forcefully. “You’re still Liam Payne, even if you haven’t always been, and I’m not going to send you back to wherever it is you came from. You’re my son.”

He nods, even though he doesn’t feel any better about it. There’s no logical reason for him to stay, if he’s only going to cause problems and create conflict in a house that got along so well before now. “Tell me how to be a better one, then,” he says. She looks like she’s about to argue, like she’s going to tell him that he’s just fine how he is, but he doesn’t let her. Liam points to the picture of his doppelganger, surrounded by people who cared for him before. “Tell me how to be more like _him_.”

It’s obvious that she’s not going to win this fight, so she doesn’t try. Liam feels her give up next to him; as much as she might try to hide it, she wants her son back more than she wants anything else. Liam can feel it. He nudges her with his shoulder, shows her that he’s not completely different from humans and other people with hearts and veins instead of circuits.

“Well,” she starts, reaching over and turning the page. He’s there, smiling alone on a stage. “He loved to sing.”

\--

As it turns out, _old_ Liam had loved to sing enough that he tried out for a competition. He’d done really well, better than he ever could have hoped, and it’s through watching the video of his audition and all of the recordings of his performances, whether it be on national television or at a small talent show or even the occasional karaoke night, that Liam finally gets an idea as to what he might have been like. He was a professional in everything he did, perfect as he could ever possibly be, and he was _good_ with people, even if he might not have known that.

As it turns out, Liam’s been doing well enough imitating him without even knowing it.

He decides that he’s going to do what Liam had tried to do before him. He’s going to try out for XFactor and he’s going to win it, even if it takes two or three tries. He’s going to get the name of this boy out there, even if it takes all of his energy and wears out his batteries to do so. It will be an ode of sorts, some sort of magnificent dedication to this boy he never knew but has to be.

And no one will know but the ones who need to, and it will be _magnificent_.

He starts practicing when his mum isn’t home, singing along to whatever he can find whenever he has the time. It’s never quiet in the house. Singing doesn’t come as easily to Liam as running or homework; he has to consciously work on it, learning how to make it sound like he feels things he doesn’t know or understand and doesn’t really have any experience with. There are songs that require him to understand heartbreak, to understand the loss of someone special to him, and he learns to associate those with his mum’s tired eyes and his sisters’ sobs on the day they came home.

When the auditions come around again, he goes. His mum comes along with him, and he can’t read her for the first time in his life. Liam can’t tell if she’s happy or nervous or sad or excited, because she must be something from all of them. It’s difficult, and when he’s ushered on stage he’s speaking too quickly and he’s clutching the microphone like a lifeline.

Liam sings and he hopes and prays that it’s good enough, that it’s something that would have made old Liam happy or proud or something. He sings like he imagines his predecessor would have, like he’s frustrated and disappointed and he’s coming back to get what he deserves.

“You’re a completely different person,” Simon says, before the voting, and they all give a solid yes. He’s delighted, he’s ecstatic, he’s so terribly happy that he can’t stop smiling and his facial circuits freeze up in that position. He’s going through.

Even with that, though, there’s that lurking doubt. Simon knew he was a different person and knew he wasn’t the same, and maybe one day he’ll know why and they won’t let Liam continue on in the competition. Liam’s mum and all of his friends and family hug him when he walks off, even his sisters, and they’re crying, too. They must have accepted him, must at least see that he’s _trying_ , because one of them kisses him briefly on the lips in the way that his mum does. It tastes bittersweet, like Ruth isn’t sure she’s ready to take him in but she’s going to try _anyway_.

Liam doesn’t remember ever feeling this happy, because while he is a completely different person, there’s nothing he can do to change that now, and no one really seems to mind.

\--

With every name that’s called, Liam feels himself shrinking. There goes Matt, and Aiden, and Wagner, and there are so many people that he’d thought he had a chance against, before, only he really never did. They don’t say his name, and it’s absolutely crushing, because he was supposed to _win_.

He isn’t as good as old Liam. He never was. Liam is a completely different person and the judges must know it by now, must have figured it out. Old Liam left huge shoes to fill, a personality with a life and a family that loved him and a voice of gold, but _Liam_ is only electronic circuits, held together by a sheath of waterproof rubber that feels like skin. He’s steel and his eyes are glass, and his teeth are metal and they must _know_ by now, because there’s no way he could compare to a living, breathing person.

There never was, apparently, and he should have known. Isn’t that what happened last time? Liam may be very nearly indestructible, immune to disease and most of the pain that comes with an ordinary life, but he’s barely even half a human being. What he feels isn’t real and isn’t true, isn’t the result of chemicals in the brain but rather the result of something telling him that he should act that way. And even now the tears he cries aren’t really his; they’re coming from little ducts in the corners of his eyes filled with the fluid, and he’s probably going to have to refill them when he gets home because there isn’t enough there for this sort of heartbreak.

He’s not human and he never will be, and as he looks at all of the other sad faces around him, he thinks that all of them deserved it far more than him, an assembly of old parts that belongs in a junkyard. He thinks that one day they’re going to die and they might even think back on this day, how they were sent packing in spite of all their hopes and dreams, and he thinks about how this is going to haunt him for the rest of his existence, how it’s going to come back to him as soon as he’s put back together to remind him that he isn’t good enough to be a human and he never really was.

Liam hopes that his mum takes him apart when he gets home. He doesn’t deserve to be here if he’s not going to be able to do what old Liam wanted. He’s not fit to fill the shoes if they’re too large for his own electronic feet, just as fake as the rest of him and just as horribly unworthy.

“Liam Payne?” someone asks, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns around and allows himself to be led where the man takes him, thinking to himself that it’s going to be out the back door or something because they don’t even want him to be seen by the public anymore. It’s ridiculous, moping like this, but he knows that he’s not going to be able to get it to stop. Emotions are like a virus in his system, and he has to let them run their course before he terminates them so they won’t stick around.

When Simon tells them that they have the opportunity to come back as a group, Liam is a little hesitant. He’s not sure that this is what old Liam would have wanted, even if the other boys do seem nice enough and are probably fantastic singers. Liam had auditioned alone. He always sang alone.

But Liam is only halfway human, at best, so if he can only complete the dream halfway, it’s probably the best that he can do. When the curly one says yes, they’ll take the opportunity, Liam is just as happy as the rest of them to have a second chance. He’s just as happy to make this lovely dream come true, for the one who left too soon.

\--

There’s Harry and Niall and Louis and Zayn. They’re a fun group of lads, but Liam has to try really hard to get in on that fun, because he knows that he’s taking this competition way too seriously and it will crush him if they don’t get in. He’s not the only one, though; he sees the way that the other boys twitch and fidget when they get comments from the judges and he knows that they’re nervous, too. They’re taking it too seriously, too. They want it just as badly, for different reasons.

Harry is very charming. He gives Liam hugs all the time, snuggles up into his side and falls asleep there, and then when he wakes up he’s sprinting around wreaking havoc on the household. There is a sort of innocence about him, not in the sense that he doesn’t understand adult themes – in fact, he knows more of those than any boy his age probably _should_ – but in the sense that the world is still good, to him. It’s still full of lovely people and amazing things and reasons to be happy all of the time. He’s innocent and he’s got dimples and he flirts with anything that breathes, which, luckily, doesn’t seem to include Liam very often.

Niall is ridiculous and Irish and he’s got a laugh that makes Liam’s mouth twitch in a ghost of a smile every time. He’s a little ball of energy, a child in every right, but there are times where he looks over at Liam and Liam remembers that he’s not an _idiot_ , he’s actually quite smart, and it’s not in the way that Harry is. It’s not in the way that he was planning on going to Uni and majoring in every available program, but rather it’s in the way that he can look right through a person and see everything they’ve never said, and Liam wonders if he sees that there’s a mass of wires where a heart should be when they make eye contact. If he does, he’s never said.

Zayn is easy to get along with, sensitive and silly all at once. He sits and he jokes about every little thing and he tells Liam that he doesn’t particularly care for this girl’s outfit or that boy’s hair under his breath. He falls asleep on Liam’s leg and Liam is comfortable to fall asleep on top of him, to shut off and rest completely and entirely in a way that he can’t anywhere else. Zayn is comfortable and homey and he makes Liam feel like he sort of belongs, even if he’s not always entirely reassured. It doesn’t take a lot to see that he feels just like Liam does, that he feels like he’s not as fantastic as everyone else around him and maybe he doesn’t deserve to be here. It doesn’t take much to see that he’s wrong, either.

And then there’s Louis, and Liam doesn’t really know how to describe _him_. He goes from acting quirky and funny, from being charming or annoying or loud and entertaining or any number of things to being completely silent in a minute, like maybe he’s a robot too and all of his circuits have momentarily shut off and all that’s left are his eyes, staring Liam down like he _knows_. He goes from yelling about Mary and his carrots to watching everyone like a hawk, learning everything he can in the briefest of intervals. It’s a little bit unnerving, because if there’s anyone who is likely to figure Liam out first, it’s Louis. Liam thinks the other boys might find out eventually, if they haven’t already, but he _knows_ that Louis will figure it out if it’s the last thing he does. Louis won’t give up until he’s got Liam down and he understands every quirk and twitch as well as Liam himself, if not better.

So, in reality, there’s Zayn, Niall, and Harry. And then there’s Louis.

\--

“Are you even real?” Louis interrogates one day, throwing himself onto the bed across from Liam and looking at him like he would look at a puzzle.

Liam feels himself freeze. His fingers stop where they’re set on his keyboard, and the only thing he can feel is the electricity moving from the wall to him. It looks like the cord goes into the laptop, rather than into Liam’s bellybutton, but there’s no guarantee that Louis hasn’t seen through the guise.

It takes approximately fifteen seconds for Liam to compose himself and start typing once more, an email to his mother on how he’s doing. Quite possibly, it’s the longest fifteen seconds he’s ever experienced, but that might just be because Louis seems to realize that he’s asked a question that has set Liam off-center, sent his mind reeling and his breath stuttering in the false lungs that fill his chest.

He takes a breath. It’s easy to pretend that he hasn’t been surprised if he focuses on not shutting the laptop off through some stray electricity. “What do you mean, Louis?” he asks, hoping that the nerves he feels going haywire aren’t making themselves known in his voice.

Louis sighs. “I can pin down absolutely everyone else in this house, Liam James Payne, but I can’t quite figure you out.” A pillow flies at Liam’s head, but he ducks out of the way and it hits the wall. “What is it you won’t tell me? Why are you always so closed off?”

There’s not really much that Liam can say to that without telling Louis that he’s a robot, and maybe he’s different and hard to figure out because he doesn’t act like people do. He acts like a computer would if it had been given a voice and told the life it should live, because that’s essentially what he is. He was designed to fill a hole left by the old Liam, and now he has to fill it to the best of his abilities.

Something tells him that it wouldn’t go over well. Maybe it’s the memory of his sisters when they first met him and realized what he is, what he’s trying to do. So he just shrugs instead of telling Louis what he wants to know, keeping his eyes focused on the computer screen. “I think you’re just not trying hard enough,” he says, a lame sort of excuse that Louis won’t believe for a second. “No one else seems to have this problem.”

There’s a violent shake of the head, and Liam seriously saw that one coming anyway, so he’s not surprised. “No, they do. It just doesn’t bother them as much.” Liam looks away from his screen at that, arching an eyebrow curiously. It’s Louis’ turn to shrug, this time. “I’ve asked. Multiple times.”

“And what do they say?” he questions, rising to the bait just like he knows Louis wants him to.

Louis nods, feeling accomplished on what isn’t even a small victory, not at all. “They say that maybe you’re just shy or something, and that’s it. I find it infuriating.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Louis continues to glare at Liam and Liam continues to ignore it.

\--

It works out that way for a long time. They make it to the finale and Liam’s never been happier, never felt so much like he was doing what he came here to do, but then they come in third and it’s like another affirmation that he’ll never be good enough. Even after Simon agrees to sign them anyway, he’s reminded that he wasn’t human enough to beat Rebecca or Matt and they’re always going to be able to give more than he can.

To be fair, Liam doesn’t have much to give in the first place. He’s all limited and false and eventually he’s going to need to get a new circuit board to function as his heart, because this one’s too broken to ever be any good. The sadness has run its course and, like every virus, the damage left behind is far more than Liam ever anticipated.

They release the first single and it’s all a fantastic blur from there, signing autographs and performing on stages that old Liam had never even seen, and even _then_ it’s not enough. Even _then_ , Liam looks at his bandmates and thinks of all the ways in which they differ, sees Harry’s innocence washing away and Niall’s childish nature swap out for something much more teenaged. He watches Zayn start to smoke more and ink his skin and get drunk all the time because of how hard the world has been to him. And he still can’t even figure out where Louis begins and ends, what has changed, but he knows that something has.

He hopes that nothing has changed in him. Then again, there’s no guarantee that anything ever _can_.

If Louis still looks at him like he’s some sort of puzzle, he doesn’t see it anymore. If Zayn still falls asleep in his lap and Harry still runs around giggling like a child, it’s lost on him. If Niall still throws his head back and laughs full-force at anything, Liam can never quite tell whether or not it’s forced. If Liam seems to have pulled away from all of them, if he seems to have become someone – some _thing_ – so invested in getting his name and the band’s name out there, so be it. That’s all he really was in the first place, so maybe it’s better that he make that clear from the very beginning. It’s easier to be honest.

\--

Liam really does hate sharing a room and sleeping on the tour bus. It’s hard to sleep with a cord attached to him if other people are watching and asking questions, and going a night without recharging is never a good idea, but he’s done it. He’s done it three nights in a row, now, relying on the false adrenaline to lead him from the stage to the bus and back again. He spends most of his time either asleep or very nearly there, and it’s difficult enough for him as it is to communicate and socialize with everyone else, let alone when he’s like this.

It must get to a breaking point, because one day Louis is grabbing his bag for him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him into the elevator. He wants to pull away and say that he can do it himself, only he knows that it would fall on deaf ears. It feels nice to let Louis take care of him, anyway.

They’re sharing a room, and Liam groans at that. He’s not going to be able to charge like this, not _well_ , and it’s only going to get worse. He turns and hides his face in Louis’ neck, shaking his head and trying to convey that _this isn’t going to help_ , but Louis just runs his fingers through Liam’s hair and Liam can feel something there that he doesn’t recognize but he’s not going to think about it, because he doesn’t have the energy left to run that kind of thought process anymore.

“I know, I know,” Louis mutters. All Liam hears is _sad_. “You don’t want me here. It’s alright; I’ll only be sharing with you for a little while.”

Liam wants to tell Louis that it isn’t something to be sad over. He wants to say that there’s no malice or hatred in the want to be alone, but he’s losing control of his muscles as it is, and he can barely even place one foot in front of the other anymore. Louis leads him over to the bed and sets him down, managing his limbs for him until he’s been arranged comfortably under the bedclothes.

Louis comes and curls up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist and nose nuzzling into his neck. Normally, that’s all fine; Liam can manage to keep up something that feels like a heartbeat and his own mechanical breathing while he’s sleeping, if he tries, but he just doesn’t have the energy anymore, and he _knows_ that everyone is going to think he’s dead and they’re going to cry and have a fit, because he’s about five seconds from a complete and utter shutdown to regain a bit of energy. It’ll be enough to get him to his charger and an outlet, but not much more, and it’s going to cause more trouble than it’s worth.

“Nonono,” Liam mutters, and it comes out slurred and broken. Louis moves to run a finger through his hair once more, and there it is again, that _sad_ and the hint of something else.

“Shh, it’ll be alright in the morning.”

\--

When his circuits start back up again, Louis is staring at him with red, tired eyes. Liam remembers his mum’s, on the night he found out about old Liam, and he wonders why it is that he always ends up hurting everyone around him. A part of him, the part that’s always there but that he can usually manage to ignore, whispers that it would be better if he was human, and what a shame that he isn’t and never will be. What an absolute and entire shame that no matter how much he wants it, he’ll never be someone that Louis will understand or that his family will love unconditionally.

Louis slaps him and Liam thinks to himself that he deserves it, even if he doesn’t feel the sting.

“What the _hell_ ,” he spits, standing up and stalking away. Liam goes to follow, but something is pulling on him, tethering him to where he’s laying, and he looks down to find that a cable connects him to the outlet in the wall.

Oh. “Louis, please don’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to respond. Louis has turned around to stare him down with those red, icy eyes. “Did you know, Liam, that you have a fucking reset button?” he asks, voice low and hoarse. “Did you know that if someone were to, say, attempt to give you CPR, that you would start spurting out instructions to plug you into the nearest outlet?”

And, well. Liam hadn’t actually known that. No one had ever tried to give him CPR.

“Did you know that you’ve got a power switch under that birthmark or that you’ve got a circuit board instead of a heart, Liam?” he continues on, sounding angry, but maybe a little bit tired too. “Did you know that you’ve got a hard drive instead of a brain? Did you know that if I were to cut you open, you would sew yourself up? All of those little wires would just continue on to reconnect and adjust, and the outer layer of skin would just patch itself up like nothing had even happened.” He takes a deep, shuddery breath. Liam has never felt guiltier in all his life. “Did you, Liam? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what. He was never made to deal with someone being this angry at him; he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt an emotion as strong as betrayal, especially not of this magnitude. The way that Louis is looking at him makes him feel like he’s made some sort of horrible mistake in not mentioning it before, and maybe he has.

There’s a dead silence where Liam can hear Louis’ heartbeat racing, throbbing in his chest just like it should. Like Liam wishes his own would. He can hear the blood rushing and see the thoughts whirling around like a hurricane, even if he doesn’t quite know what those thoughts are. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know what to feel. Of all the people he thought he might have to one day comfort, Louis was never one of them.

“So this is what you’ve always been hiding, isn’t it?” Louis asks. He sounds resigned. “When I tried to work you out on the XFactor, this is what you wouldn’t tell me. When I wondered why you always wanted to be off on your own, why you _hated_ me so much, it wasn’t because you really wanted me gone. It’s because you weren’t telling us everything that you should have.”

Liam sits up just a little bit straighter. He’s got something to say now, certainly. “I don’t hate you, Louis,” and the words are honest but they must not sound that way, not with how Louis turns to look at him.

“Right,” spits his counterpart – and that’s really what they are, isn’t it? Louis is everything that Liam has ever wanted to be, all emotion and fierce protection and not at all logic, not one bit. They’re the two halves of a whole, and Liam knows right then that he doesn’t understand Louis because he hasn’t allowed himself the opportunity to contemplate the idea of him. He doesn’t want to know what emotions are like, because he’s felt them before and they’re so painful. He doesn’t want to know Louis well enough to get hurt again. Except he really sort of does, if he’s to be totally honest.

Louis looks like he’s about to storm out and run away to someone else. Liam quite suddenly doesn’t want that to happen. “Lou, I really – I _don’t_.” He goes to grab Louis’ wrist, but his cord is holding him back and he knows he doesn’t have enough energy to fix it if it falls out, not yet. He knows that he’ll collapse again, but Louis is looking at him like he’s the shit on the bottom of a new pair of shoes and he needs to explain, he has to _say_ why he’s kept it a secret and why he’s been pushing Louis away.

Suddenly it isn’t Liam who’s lost and confused, it’s Louis who doesn’t understand, and he’s gritting out a strong “Fuck you, Liam,” as he walks toward the door, hand wrapping around the handle.

Liam feels the plug pop out and he barely even acknowledges it, using what little energy he’s picked up from the time he passed out to the time that Louis plugged him in to move forward, as fast as he’d ever been on that stupid track team. He clings to Louis’ wrist and something changes in his face when he looks back at Liam. When Liam feels himself shorting out, he tries his best to get the words into the open so that Louis can know, can _see_ what it is that he’s saying, but he’s already falling.

_It’s not hate, it’s curiosity._

\--

Life is awkward after that. Louis doesn’t seem to know what he thinks of Liam, whether it should be hatred or admiration, and Liam doesn’t know what Louis thinks of him or how to explain what he feels himself, which results in quite a few sprints down the hall or trips to the bathroom to avoid one another. The other boys notice, but they don’t really understand why, and now Liam isn’t quite sure if that’s the best option for everyone, but it’s all he knows. At this point, bringing up to the boys that he’s not human would result in more discordance and awkward interruptions, until Liam hardly even leaves his hotel room but for the absolute necessities.

He wouldn’t be able to handle that.

One day, Zayn sits down next to him and rests his feet in Liam’s lap. They both know exactly what’s coming before either says a word. “What’s up with you and Louis, then?” he asks, as if it’s not the very problem that has been tearing Liam apart for exactly two weeks and five days. (He wasn’t counting; robots tend to be good with numbers, is all.)

“I don’t know what you mean,” Liam says, if only because Zayn expects him to.

Zayn nods. “So you don’t want to talk about it, then?” he asks, just like he always does. Liam doesn’t hurry to say yes this time, though. Instead, he bites his lip and looks toward the door, on the other side of which Louis and Harry are probably laughing and causing trouble. Niall might even be with them. Liam wishes he could be, even if it meant dealing with the looks that Louis has been giving him lately, the ones that Liam can’t figure out no matter how hard he tries.

Liam finally gives in and looks back over at Zayn. “I wouldn’t know how, even if I tried.”

He must look exhausted. Zayn pulls him over and shifts them about until they’re curled up together in one corner of the sofa, a mess of arm and leg and quiff. “I know you two have never really gotten on well, but this is getting ridiculous. Promise me you’ll talk to him, mate?” he asks.

“Only if he’ll talk to me,” Liam replies, allowing his eyes to shut.

\--

It ends up being pretty simple to get Louis to talk to him. At least, it’s a lot easier than Liam had anticipated, even if it isn’t what he wants to talk to Louis about. He’s been sharing a room with Zayn these past nights to avoid getting stuck with someone that Louis might want to visit, or Louis himself, and he hasn’t really gotten a full charge in a while, although he’s gotten small ones every now and then when he can manage.

Louis knows, because he _would_ , and he follows Liam into the room without any sort of announcement or warning. “Far bed is mine,” he states, walking over and throwing his bag on the undoubtedly scratchy duvet. “I’m going to take a shower; you can recharge, or whatever.”

It’s almost as though he’s grown two heads. This isn’t the confident Louis that Liam knows, the one who argues and fights back and says whatever he wants to. This is a Louis who is quiet and submissive, who lets Liam lie and say that he’s something he isn’t. This is the sort of Louis that Louis would be if he were to be like Liam, and Liam doesn’t like it any more than he enjoys _not_ being old Liam.

Of course, Liam isn’t old Liam, so he doesn’t say anything. Louis walks into the bathroom with clothes balled up in his hands and the door clicks shut, leaving Liam all alone and more than slightly baffled in the dimly lit room. He sets his things up where they always go, clothes at the foot of the bed for when he’s ready to change and shoes next to the desk even though he won’t be using it. He folds down the topmost part of the duvet so he can get to the pillows and pulls his cord out from his pocket, ready to plug it in, and –

And then he realizes that this is all incredibly stupid, and if he doesn’t feel anything at all then he certainly shouldn’t feel _nerves_. The cord is set down on the table and the door to the bathroom is pushed open before he can even think of what he’s doing. There’s a lot of steam and the mirror is already fogging up, but that’s fine because it means that he can’t see what Louis looks like and Louis can’t see what he looks like and they won’t have to try to read each other or beat around the bush.

Being honest is easier.

“I _don’t_ hate you,” Liam says, vindictively. He’s got something to prove. “And I don’t really understand why you think I do.”

Louis is cursing, and Liam thinks he might have dropped something in his surprise. It would be funny, except for the fact that he’s trying so hard to be serious about all of this. “Liam, what the hell?”

“Exactly!” Liam exclaims, sitting down on the counter. “That’s what you said last time, too!” He thinks that maybe it isn’t what Louis means, but he really doesn’t care. He has to put this out there. “And while I understand why you might have been mad at me, I don’t really understand why you’re _still_ mad, and I really don’t understand why you think I _hated_ you.”

Louis sighs and peeks around the curtain. There’s water trickling down his forehead from his hair, and Liam struggles not to focus on it. “Listen, Liam. I understand you might be in the middle of an existential crisis, or something, but can it not wait until I’m clothed?”

“Right, sorry. Sorry.”

\--

Louis pokes a finger into his bellybutton experimentally, head tilted to the side and lip caught between his teeth. “Could it shock me, do you think?”

“Well. I’d have to be careful to keep that from happening, I think,” Liam replies. “I kept on shorting out my phones and iPods and things for a few months before I figured out how to stop the electricity from flowing through my fingers.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Louis’ eye when he looks up this time, and Liam doesn’t manage to decipher it before he sticks his finger into Liam’s bellybutton and yells, “Surprise!”

Liam would find it uncomfortable, but Louis yelps and yanks his finger out almost immediately afterwards, so the discomfort doesn’t last all that long. “I told you,” he scolds.

They could have talked about the fight. Liam could have apologized and Louis could have explained, and it would have all been sorted out. Louis insisted, though, that he have the opportunity to learn exactly how Liam worked before they moved on to anything else. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted to storm out of the room and miss an opportunity.

“Kiss it better?” he pleads, holding up the finger in question. Liam’s eyebrows pull together, a little bit confused, and then – “That’s why! Right there.”

Liam doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he’s dumbfounded. “Why what, Louis? You’re not making any sense.”

The bed shifts as Louis moves to sit beside him, sides just barely not touching. “No, I’m making perfect sense. You’re just not following.” He looks like he’s going to reach over and twine his fingers with Liam’s, but he hesitates and decides not to and – well, there’s that awkwardness again. Liam wants to scream. “I thought you hated me because you would give me that look whenever I asked for something. Or whenever I talked, really. It was like I confused you and irritated you all at once, and I didn’t like it.”

“But – Louis, that’s exactly what it is.” Liam sees that this is exactly the wrong thing to say when Louis turns just slightly away, looking at the floor instead of at him. “Not in the way you’re thinking, but it’s still true. I just… you’re really confusing as a person, Louis, but now imagine what that’s like when you aren’t even a person to begin with, really, and you’ve got no people skills whatsoever.”

Louis sits up a little bit straighter, indignant. “But you _have_ got people skills! I’ve seen them! Everyone loves you, Liam; how is it possible that you don’t see it?”

It’s not even a lie when Liam sighs and shrugs, replying, “I’ve had plenty of years to learn that that’s not the case, Lou. People don’t tend to like me until they’ve gotten through all of the circuitry and pretense, or they don’t know that it’s all there to begin with. They all like old Liam.”

“Old Liam isn’t around anymore, though,” Louis informs him, as if he doesn’t already _know_ , “and as sad as that is, he never will be. You never knew him, so you can’t possibly be just like him. You’re a hybrid, at best. You’re halfway old Liam and halfway the Liam that I’ve always known.”

It’s difficult to explain, so Liam doesn’t try. He shrugs and gives up. “Whatever you say, Louis. Just… I don’t want you to think that I hate you. I never did.”

Louis looks at Liam, and there’s that little hint of _something else_ that he had before, when he hadn’t quite found out about the whole robot idea. “I don’t anymore. I promise.”

The conversation ends there, and Liam couldn’t be happier about the whole thing. He charges and Louis sits there watching, as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He tugs on Liam’s hair to see if it’s real and drips water over his skin to see if he’ll short-circuit – smart boy, really – and then laughs when he doesn’t, promises that one day there will be a bucket and water balloons and Liam will never see it coming. He curls up next to Liam when they’re ready to go to bed, on the condition that Liam won’t shut down completely this time around, and he’ll still have a heartbeat and he’ll still be breathing.

When Liam has his eyes shut and he’s getting ready to shut down for the night, Louis whispers something against his neck. He wouldn’t have heard it, he doesn’t think, if he were human; as it is, though, he hears it as plainly as he does the air in the vents and the cars on the road.

“Do you think you’re capable of loving anyone, then?” he asks, breath warm against Liam’s skin.

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what I can and can’t feel.”

Louis shifts until he’s looking up at Liam, eyes reflecting the bright city lights outside of their window. “Would you like to find out?” he asks, and then he’s leaning up and pressing his lips to Liam’s in a way that is certainly not like his mothers and sisters back home.

It sends Liam reeling, a little bit. There is so much information flowing through him, about Louis’ lips and the way that they work and what he’s feeling right this moment. There’s anxiety and courage and fear. There’s happiness and satisfaction, but also some doubt lurking over in the corners. That something secret is lurking, too, but it’s further under wraps. Liam wonders if Louis even knows about it yet, isn’t sure he’s ever known a person so completely as he knows Louis now, and he’s also not sure he would want to if it were to be anyone else.

When they pull away, Louis is grinning from ear to ear and Liam is smiling just the tiniest bit, if only because that kind of kiss makes emotions contagious. Apparently. “So?” Louis asks, looking up at Liam through his lashes.

Liam shrugs. “I don’t imagine _anyone_ falls in love after one kiss, Louis, not even humans.” He presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead anyway, a sort of reassurance.

 --

“Are we all better, then?” Niall asks, slinging his arms over Liam and Louis’ shoulders the next morning. Liam is smiling and Louis is trying very hard not to, and it feels better than it ever has. They both nod and tell Niall that yes, it’s all better now, and Harry lets out a dramatic sigh of relief and Zayn nods, because that’s all he ever really does when it comes to drama.

Louis waits until they’ve all gone back to whatever it was that they were doing before slipping his hand into Liam’s, smiling up at him like he’s something spectacular. Liam feels excitement and elation there, and he hopes that he looks even half as happy as Louis feels.

It’s all relatively easy from there, and Louis rooms with Liam very nearly every night. The other boys either don’t notice or pretend not to, go on shuffling and trading for the single over the course of the tour. Louis cuddles up with Liam every night and tries to figure out another mystery, if he can, whether it be if he can eat metal – he can, but it doesn’t taste very good – or if handing him a pair of fuzzy socks and telling him to scrub them across the floor might result in some serious electrical shock. (Liam tells him that a power outage on the entire third floor is plenty, and no, they will not be doing it again.)

They don’t really talk about the kiss very often, although Liam wishes they would. He wants to know if Louis has discovered that feeling yet, the one that he’s seen hiding away for months now. He wants to know if Louis knows what it is yet, if he can explain it to Liam somehow so that he might understand what it is, too. But they don’t talk about it, and Liam is left to wonder why it is that the feeling is hidden in the first place while Louis remains oblivious.

He’s left to wonder why something seems to restart in the pit of his stomach whenever Louis leans in and presses into his personal space, why the lips against his neck make his skin jump with little shocks that have never been a problem before.

\--

“Zayn was looking for you,” Louis says, the second he walks into the room. Liam sets his bag down on the bed and wonders about how that’s possible, considering they were just in the elevator together. Given, he might’ve texted Louis; Liam has never been very good at keeping track of his phone.

He shrugs and walks back out into the hallway, ignoring the way that Louis closes the door immediately behind him in exchange for walking to Zayn’s room. It’s down the hall a bit, past Niall and Harry and Paul and some other members of the band or crew, possibly as far away as he can go without going to another floor. When he knocks on the door, Zayn opens it, looking a little bit like he’s trying to hold in a laugh.

“Did you need something?” Liam asks, looking Zayn up and down. He doesn’t look injured and he doesn’t seem upset, so Liam is really having quite the hard time trying to figure out exactly why he’s here.

“Oh, no, it’s just,” Zayn motions down the hall a bit, “Niall and Harry wanted to talk to you, or something. Thought you might like to know.”

Liam sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Of course. I just would have liked it more if I hadn’t walked all the way down here to find out.”

“Cheers,” Zayn says, and Liam might think that it’s an odd time to say it but he doesn’t say so, instead walking down to Niall and Harry’s room, right beside his own. He knocks twice before the door is thrown open and he’s dragged inside, mouth full of curls and sides full of prodding fingers.

“Paul wants to see you,” Niall teases, tugging lightly on Liam’s hair.

Harry hugs him around the legs, more than just a bit intoxicated. “What did you do, you horrible, misbehaving boy?” he interrogates, words slurring together.

Paul wants him? Is that really what all of this was for? “I don’t – I don’t know,” he states, honestly enough, and Niall starts to cackle.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he gasps, clutching at his sides. Definitely drunk, then. “I can’t do this, Harry. I can’t.”

Harry nods along with him, laughing just as hard. “Not to our poor Daddy Direction. He’ll have a fit, and be all upset, and then Mum will be mad in the morning.”

That seems to be more than just mildly hilarious to Niall, because he starts to laugh all over again, falling onto the ground. “ _Mum_ ,” he gasps. “ _Mum_ will be mad in the morning?”

Liam starts to untangle himself from the pair of them, wondering exactly how they got this drunk so quickly. “Well, if it’s – you know, I think I’m going to see what Paul wants.”

Harry tuts and grabs onto Liam’s leg again, trying to sound serious even as he giggles. “Liam, haven’t you been _listening_?” he sighs. “You’re not to see Paul. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“But you said-”

“Louis wanted us to distract you, s’all, so we were sending you all over,” Niall sniggers, pulling Harry away from Liam if only so he can attach himself more firmly to his friend’s back. “You should go back and talk to Lou, I think.”

Liam nods and pretends that he understands, even though he really, _really_ doesn’t. He backs out of the room before one of them grabs onto him again and pulls him down with them. The door shuts and he’s safe out in the hallway, relieved and confused all at once.

\--

There are candles around the room, but not all of them are lit. Louis is walking around with what looks like Zayn’s lighter, working his way through each and every one of them.

“This is a fire hazard,” Liam says immediately, and goes to blow one out.

Louis groans, “You’re not supposed to be back yet!” He whacks Liam’s hand and pulls him away from the candle, into the center of the room. “Remind me never to trust the boys with anything ever again. Ever.”

“About that,” Liam starts, allowing himself to be led, “why did you need me to go running around? And why are you risking burning down a very nice hotel?”

Louis turns to face Liam and they’re standing next to one of the beds, fingers linked together and surrounded by candlelight. It’s all very nice and cozy, but that doesn’t mean Liam understands any of it. “Well, you know how you said no one could fall in love after just one kiss?” he asks, sitting down on top of the duvet. Liam follows, just like he knows Louis wants him to. He’s not even thinking about what he can feel through Louis’ fingers anymore; most of the emotions are so familiar that he doesn’t even need to decipher them, although that one he doesn’t get must still be under wraps, because he can’t figure out what it is even now.

“Yes,” Liam replies, easily enough. He does. He remembers that night very well. In fact, Liam was wondering if they were ever going to get around to talking about it.

Louis looks at him like he’s waiting for something to click, but it never does. He sighs. “What do you think about two, then?” he questions, lightly. Liam thinks he might be forcing it.

“Two what?” And he’s not pulling Louis’ leg, he honestly doesn’t understand where this is going, and he isn’t quite sure he’s going to be able to solve any mysteries or riddles. He’d love to know what was going on now, thank you, and if Louis wasn’t going to help then he wasn’t going to get whatever it was he wanted.

It’s like Louis is torn between laughing, crying, and sighing. Liam smiles and almost laughs at him, but then Louis is kissing him _again_ , pressing their entire bodies together until they’re lying on top of each other on the bed.

Liam’s entire world is restarting and short-circuiting all at once, little sunbursts behind his eyes and irregularities in his false heartbeat. His breath is hitching even though he doesn’t need it to begin with, and that emotion he’s been chasing for so long now is flowing from Louis into him, warm and lovely and comforting just like Louis’ hands.

They sit like that for a while, exploring and learning and just learning from each other somehow, although Liam isn’t quite sure why. He can’t seem to pull away, no matter how hard he tries to, and Louis pulls him back in every time anyway. Eventually, though, _Louis_ has to pull away, and he’s panting even though Liam is just fine.

“I – hm,” Liam opens his mouth and tries to make words form, but he’s not really sure what he’ll say anyway and it’s really difficult to focus with Louis pressed up against him and panting heavily. “Was that,” he starts again, only to find that he doesn’t even know what it is he was going to ask.

Louis laughs, high and breathless. “I think I might’ve broken you,” he mutters into Liam’s shirt, only he doesn’t sound particularly remorseful, and he seems to be getting more enjoyment out of this than it warrants. “If you tell me that you didn’t feel anything, I’m going to room with Zayn and we’re never going to talk again.” He’s teasing; Liam knows that now.

“I don’t want that,” Liam states simply, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist. He doesn’t know _why_ , but it sort of feels like the right idea at the moment and he’s not going to let go just yet. Louis hums contentedly, hiding his face in Liam’s neck.

“You’d better not,” he warns, and the warmth of his breath combined with the movement of his lips against Liam’s skin brings back those pesky sparks, sprinting along his body and making him feel uncomfortable. He’s feeling hot and itchy all over, and wherever Louis is touching him is practically on _fire_ , connected and combined in a pit of boiling _something_ in his stomach. He rolls Louis off of him as gently as he can, presses another kiss to his lips to make him stop that horrible whining noise he’s started in the back of his throat.

“Sorry, I – I’m overheating, or something, I don’t know,” Liam informs him, and tries not to blush at the fact that he doesn’t even know what’s going on in his own body. Louis smiles up at him from where he’s been placed, looking every bit like he’s plotting something Liam’s bound to hate, but Liam doesn’t wait to find out what it is. He rushes into the bathroom and turns on the shower, water hot and steamy. He’s going to shower all of this weird heat away, whatever it is, and then he’ll go back out and kiss Louis again and –

There it is. Something twists, uncomfortably hot, in his stomach. He fights to ignore it.

Arms wrap around his waist, making him jump. When Liam twists around to find Louis looking at him with the sort of fake innocence that has probably gotten him into plenty of trouble before now, he can’t say that he’s really _annoyed,_ although he is kind of frustrated with the situation.

“Look,” Louis tells him, “I understand you might be in the middle of an existential crisis, or something, but it can probably wait until after you’ve got your clothes _off_.”

Liam thinks that Louis might know more about this sort of thing, these messy feelings and bodies acting the way that they really shouldn’t, than he ever will. So he does as he’s told, even though it’s embarrassing and it makes him blush a ridiculous amount.

Turns out, Louis can help him an _awful_ lot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Um. This is my first fic on here, but I have a whole lot of them on Tumblr. I've never really used an actual writing site for my stories, so any suggestions or feedback at all would be helpful, really. :) Thank you for taking the time to read!


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